


To tell you the truth

by Howlriffic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek learning to communicate, Humour, M/M, Planning is for chumps, Rating may change as story develops, Truth spell trope, Witches and curses, everyone is happy and alive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 05:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10780632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howlriffic/pseuds/Howlriffic
Summary: “Now wait one hot second,” says Stiles, affronted.“Every second with you is hot,” replies Derek earnestly.Stiles’ mouth opens, closes, and opens again, like a goldfish. Ironically, he’s feeling rather out of his depth.“-what?” he gets out at the same time that Scott lets out an incredulous: “Dude?”





	To tell you the truth

**Author's Note:**

> Just an idea I had bouncing around in my head for a while- can you tell I can't speak Latin? If you spot any errors please leave a comment! :)
> 
> My [beta](https://wheretheprettythingslive.tumblr.com)
> 
> My [tumblr](http://www.howlriffic.tumblr.com)

The witch, standing in the centre of the circle of mountain ash, takes her time completing the intricate runes that twist and curl out from under her feet. Several hundred feet away, Stiles stumbles through the underbrush, frantically flipping through the grimoire even as brambles swipe at his calves.

“Derek, get the hell back!” he yells to the wolf pacing the mountain ash line. “I think I know how to reverse the spell, but there’s going to be a- a release of energy before it kicks in! A counter-curse!”

Derek barely looks up, keeping his eyes fixed on the sorcerer.

“I’ll heal,” he says.

Stiles grits his teeth, shutting the small, leather-bound book with a snap and stuffing it into his hoodie before beginning to sprint towards the clearing, ignoring the burn in his lungs. _Honestly_ , he thinks, _would it kill the werewolf to listen to him just one bloody time?_

“Damn it, Derek!” he hollers instead.

The witch slices a cut into the skin just above her elbow, letting the blood drip onto the runes she’s carved into the mossy ground as she begins to chant. The ground in the clearing begins to tremble, and above her, the forest canopy begins buzzing with static energy.

Just beyond the mountain ash line, Derek’s rumbling growl crescendos.

Ignoring him, Stiles bursts into the clearing, running straight through the mountain ash barrier and into the sprawling mass of runes, frantically searching for the sequence of runes to summon _Eris_ , Goddess of Chaos. Twisting and ducking desperately, he keeps an eye on the glint of the silver dagger still clutched in the magician’s white-knuckled grip as she tries to halt his advance. He hears the speed of the magician’s chanting pick up as she becomes increasingly agitated; the swish of the blade as it cuts through the air- too close for comfort.

 _Finally!_ He spots the runes across the circle and, bracing himself, charges the witch head-on, forcing her to move aside in order to continue the incantation uninterrupted.

He hisses as she swings her arm out, the end of the blade catching him in the side, but doesn’t slow until he scrubs the runes out beneath the sole of his sneaker.

 _“Solvite in saltu, in maledictione dimittere!”_ he shouts, before turning tail and leaping out of the circle even as the witch begins to scream behind him and a blinding white blast of light overtakes his vision. He stumbles forward, nearly hitting the ground before he finds himself wrapped in a set of warm, strong arms.

“Stiles!” Derek exclaims, shaking him a little.

 _Derek_ , Stiles thinks, and promptly passes out.

\---

When Stiles blinks blearily awake, he slowly becomes aware of the dim lighting of Derek’s loft, the pillow under his head, and then of feeling of the unyielding concrete floor digging into his back. He licks his chapped lips, looking around to search for a drink when he realises he’s not alone in the room.

A quick glance to the left of his makeshift bed reveals a worried-looking Scott, with the rest of the pack hovering anxiously near the walls so that they don’t make him feel claustrophobic, he notes with some relief. Derek is, as usual, lurking in the darkness just beyond the door to the kitchen, looking for all the world like he would rather be anywhere else.

The silence stretches on until Stiles pushes himself into a seated position and croaks out: “Water?”

For a few moments, the room is a flurry of activity as a bottle of water is retrieved, cracked open and held out for him. He grins appreciatively at Isaac, taking the bottle from him and taking a quick swig.

Lydia speaks up first.

“How are you feeling?” 

“Oh, just peachy,” Stiles says, waving his free hand about carelessly. “Sort of like if an evil witch that tried to summon a goddess of chaos just ran me over with a steamroller.”

Lydia purses her lips.

 _“Just peachy?”_  

Stiles blinks a little. Under this lighting, from this specific angle, he’d almost say she looked worried.

“Hey,” he says, spreading his arms wide, and splashing some water from his open bottle onto the floor, “There may have been a little maiming, a little mangling, but no death. That's what I call an important distinction.”

Somehow, his friends look even less reassured than before, and Stiles groans loudly, about to launch into a tirade about how h _e’s a spark, he can take care of himself without the help of other overpowered supernatural creatures, thank you very much,_ when Derek says: “You shouldn’t have put yourself in danger by coming with me. I would’ve handled it.”

“Now wait one hot second,” says Stiles, affronted.

“Every second with you is hot,” replies Derek earnestly.

Stiles’ mouth opens, closes, and opens again, like a goldfish. Ironically, he’s feeling rather out of his depth.

“-what?” he gets out at the same time that Scott lets out an incredulous: _“Dude?”_

Derek looks equal parts surprised and like he wants the earth to swallow him whole.

"I'm gonna... go call Deaton." says Isaac.

\---

“Well,” begins Deaton, eyeing the teenagers (and one decidedly not-teenager) who have, once again, piled into his tiny office. “It’s just as Stiles said. Being the opposite of a chaos spell would mean that this spell intends to bring order to its users, and, in Derek’s case, it appears he is being forced to speak his mind.”

He gestures to Derek.

“Perhaps the spell intends for you to solve your current problems through communication with your pack.”

There’s a pause, and in the background, elderly Mrs. Evans’ tiny poodle whines.

“That’s… helpful, and while we are very grateful for your input,” Isaac says, not sounding grateful at all, “we’d really like to know how to solve it.”

Deaton counts to three mentally before answering.

“Allow the magic to serve its purpose and it should wear off on its own.”

The pack leaves in a noisy clatter of sneakers against linoleum and elbows bumping into doorframes and a scattered _Thanks, dude!_ before the clinic is silent once more.

Deaton sighs, looking heavenward for a second. It’s a wonder he still has clients, really.


End file.
